


drowned in the light, in the sound

by TheCraftyNinjaCat



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Costume Parties & Masquerades, Flirting, M/M, Making Out, Sexual Tension, clover gets as wrecked as second base allows, only sauce, rated m but there's no fucking, there's...a LOT of sauce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25646920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCraftyNinjaCat/pseuds/TheCraftyNinjaCat
Summary: Qrow crashes an Atlesian masquerade ball for fun, with low expectations. He gets a lot more than what he came for.(Takes place before Volume 3. An alternate Fair Game first meeting.)
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	drowned in the light, in the sound

He first heard about it through James.

It was another one of Jacques’ parties. A suit and tie, invite only celebration held in Schnee Manor to celebrate the progress of the SDC. James sarcastically called it _‘the event of the century’._

Normally Qrow would scoff at the idea. Then he heard the theme. 

_Masquerade._

Qrow had always been a sucker for a good masquerade ball. And the more he thought about it, the more he found himself actually _interested._ He was already in the kingdom for mission related reasons. Add convenience to free drinks, complete anonymity and the opportunity to mess with rich assholes with little consequences… they could sign him up for sure.

So he supposed, just this once, he could have a little fun _Atlas style_ before heading off to Beacon. 

Watching himself in the changing room mirror, he smoothed out his sleek black suit before combing back his hair with his hand. A burgundy cloak clipped into his jacket, billowing around his arms and stopping just before it touched the floor. His whole ensemble wasn’t something he’d usually wear, and he barely looked like himself. Then again, he wasn’t trying to look like _himself_ anyways. 

Funnily enough, the cloak he wore reminded him of something he had seen before. He remembered fabric in a brilliant white, with a hood that even when up wouldn’t shroud the wearer’s piercing silver eyes...

He took a sip from his flask, drowning the memory.

Bottom line, he looked like hot shit. Completely unrecognisable hot shit, but hot shit regardless.

Satisfied, Qrow whipped back the curtain of the changing room and went straight to the checkout. He was going to the ball directly, so he didn't feel the need to change out of his clothes.

“Thanks for the help, pal,” he drawled, fumbling with his wallet.

“No problem,” the cashier replied, eyeing Qrow’s clothes, “Though I’d say it’s a bit late to be shopping for the Schnee’s ball. Invite get lost in the mail?”

Qrow laughed, dropping a handful of Lien onto the counter, “You could say that.”

He hadn’t necessarily been invited. He wasn’t nearly as wealthy, Atlesian, or racist enough. No, he was more like a... _surprise, self-invited guest._

...he was crashing it. Qrow was crashing the ball.

“Keep the change,” the huntsman announced, waving as he walked away. 

The cashier’s snarky remark was drowned out by the jingle of the door’s bell as Qrow stepped out into the cold. He shivered slightly at the cold, wrapping his cloak a little tighter around himself.

Picking up his mask, he slipped it over his face and adjusted it to fit. His fingers traced over the long beak attached to the front, combing back faux feathers to straighten them out. Just to be sure, he pulled out his scroll to check his reflection once more.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

He took another swig from his flask, for good luck, before taking off.

* * *

Schnee Manor wasn’t too far away from the boutique, so he didn’t need to fly for long. As the mansion came into view, he spotted a short line of limos circling around the front yard. A handful of guests poured out of each car, and they smiled for the cameras before heading inside. 

Rather than following them in through the front, Qrow circled the mansion for a different opening. Eventually he found it in the form of an open window on the top floor. Gracefully, he swooped through the narrow gap, transforming back into his human form as he tumbled inside.

Well, that was easy. 

Getting off the floor, he casually brushed himself off before heading down the empty halls. The walls were lined with portraits, most of them depicting members of the Schnee family. One in particular, of a young Winter Schnee, caught his eye. He snickered, reminding himself to tease her about it later.

Soft piano music grew louder, and the sound of clinking glasses made itself known. Qrow followed the noise, getting closer to the source. Finally, he stepped through a doorway and made it to the ballroom.

The dull whites and greys of the mansion blinded Qrow, and it took him a second to adjust to the sight. Once he did, he was greeted by a sea of aristocrats below him, conversing and partying amongst themselves. Straightening his back, he slowly walked down the grand stairs and into the crowds below.

Despite the festive theme, the partygoers also wore similar variants of greyish-white, with the occasional rebels sporting a plum red or dirty gold. Some wore their mask as headdresses, others had theirs on sticks. Feathers, lace and jewels covered them all, and they glittered under the light of the chandelier.

“Hor d'oeuvres, sir?”

Qrow met the eyes of a server, who looked up at him expectantly with a tray of assorted snacks in hand. He took one, thanking her before she walked away. 

He wandered the ballroom, looking for something to do. Whenever someone acknowledged him, he engaged in no more than a simple ‘hello’ before disappearing. At most he’d occasionally walk just a little bit closer to a group of nobles, just to overhear their conversations.

_“Our exports have gone up 30% ever since-”_

_“She’s been doing wonderfully, and so have I if I do say-”_

_“Thank you! it took my maids forever to find my-”_

_“Atlas has really gone downhill ever since we started letting **their** kind work here.”_

Stopping in his tracks, Qrow tuned out the rest of the crowd and turned to the voice. On the other side of the room stood a woman, wrapped in a gaudy ball gown and face flushed from a tad too many drinks.

Judging by which way she was looking, her words seemed to be aimed towards a nearby Faunus, standing just a few feet away. He faced away from her and showed no direct discomfort, but Qrow noticed how he slinked away with his literal tail between his legs.

Sneering, the woman turned to her husband, “I mean, honestly, what does it take for Ironwood to hire nice, _normal _people these days?”__

_And the man, upon hearing his wife, _laughed._ _

_Qrow’s gaze darted between the other partygoers. They were close enough to hear what she was saying. They were just too stuck up their own asses to care._

_“It’s _ridiculous._ If you ask me, they should be grateful we haven’t sent them all to the mines by now.”_

...alright, Qrow had heard enough. 

A familiar chill under his skin grew, crawling up his neck as he channelled his semblance. He stared at the woman and waited, not breaking eye contact. When a different server approached her with his tray of filled wine glasses, he shut his eyes and concentrated. 

Time seemed to slow. The crowd seemed to go quiet, save for the woman. 

“I remember when Atlas only let normal people serve, before all of this ‘equality’ crap. If I had the money Jacques had, the animals would be the first to-” 

The crash of shattering glass filled the air, followed by a very shrill, very _loud_ scream. 

Hushed murmurs erupted from the partygoers, their attention caught by the sudden disruption. Qrow opened his eyes. In an unfortunate accident, the new server had slipped on the polished floor and crashed into the woman, soaking the front of her gown with red wine. 

“Whoops,” Qrow muttered, doing nothing to hide his grin. 

The woman screeched and hurled insults towards the server, horrified at her new dress getting ruined. When he attempted to offer a towel to wipe away the mess, the woman took a step back in disgust. Qrow heard a dull crack as the heel of her shoe snapped, and the onlookers collectively winced as she was thrown off balance and onto the floor. 

Bursting into tears, she scrambled to her feet and stormed out, her husband not too far behind. The other partygoers rolled their eyes and continued their conversations, while the waiters bit their tongues to stifle their laughter. 

Mission accomplished. 

Qrow leaned against the wall with a sigh. He chuckled slightly as he remembered the woman’s face as she fell. Hopefully no one else would have to follow in her footsteps, but he was more than willing to ‘accidentally’ snap somebody’s necklace or make them trip if they talked any more shit. 

Unless he lost control, and the windows shattered. 

Or the chandelier came crashing down. 

Or the whole mansion collapsed. 

Suddenly he wasn’t in much of a partying mood anymore. 

His fingers itched to grab the flask in his jacket pocket. Apart from that one incident, the night was turning out to be pretty dull. He considered leaving, back up the staircase and out the same window he entered through. 

Until his gaze was caught by a flash of green. 

...why, _hello._

The man was standing alone when Qrow saw him. He held a soldier’s posture, shoulders back with toned arms held behind his back. A forest green vest fit snugly over his white shirt, perfectly tailored to his build. His mask was a simple emerald hue, but gold embellishments curled over it like vines, catching the light. 

Handsome. 

Hardened. 

The ideal portrait of Atlesian perfection. 

Without thinking, Qrow weaved through the crowds of aristocrats and headed towards the man. He quickly avoided bumping into a passing server, which was pretty lucky on his part, before he finally reached his side. 

“It’s a shame to see a guy like you here all alone. Hope you don’t mind the company.” 

The man turned to him upon hearing his voice. Behind the mask, Qrow spotted a hint of bright, sea-green irises. _Breathtaking._ He swallowed. 

“Not at all,” the man greeted, giving a respectful nod of his head, “It’d be my pleasure.” 

A server passed them, and they took a flute of champagne each. 

“So, what brings you to the party?” Qrow asked. 

The stranger’s face tensed slightly, “Business. The general requested my teammates and I attend as a way to take the night off.” 

Qrow raised his eyebrows, “The...general?” 

He gestured towards a man far to their left, chatting with a few other guests. His silver, metallic mask covered half of his face, but Qrow instantly recognised the tired general underneath. 

So, it seemed the handsome stranger was a military man. 

...ohhhhh, this was going to piss off James _so bad._

“Ah, so you’re one of Jimmy’s _special operatives,”_ Qrow teased, turning back to face him. 

The corners of the other man’s lips slowly curled into a smile, “I hope that isn’t a problem.” 

“It’s a bonus,” Qrow flashed a wolfish grin, “I like a man who can _follow orders.”_

The man narrowed his eyes, smiling, “Oh, _I’m sure you do,”_

Something about the way the other man said that sent a shiver down Qrow’s spine. 

Both men took a sip of champagne before he continued, a lilt in his voice, “So...who do I have to thank for the company?” 

“No one in particular,” Qrow deflected, tapped the beak of his mask, “If we had a need for names, we wouldn’t be wearing these.” 

A short hum left the man before he gave Qrow a warm smile. 

“I’m Clover.” he said, extending his free hand in offering. 

Qrow reached out to shake, but at the last second got a _much_ better idea. Gently, he took Clover’s hand, leaned down and placed a feather light kiss to his knuckles. 

The other man’s smile morphed into a sly smirk at the gesture, “You’re awfully forward.” 

“Not usually,” Qrow let go of his hand and drew closer, “Sometimes I just find someone worth going the extra mile for.” 

Clover teased, “Well, _lucky_ me,” 

_Lucky._ Oh, if only he knew how wrong he was. 

Qrow’s free hand wandered to the pin on Clover’s lapel, tracing the curved metal with his fingertips. If he was uncomfortable, he certainly didn’t show it. If anything, his smile only grew at Qrow’s eagerness. The special operative was clearly as into this as he was, which he thanked the stars for. 

“Cute little trinket,” Qrow murmured, “You two match.” 

“It brings good fortune my way,” Clover said, winking, “Seeing you’re here, I think it worked like a charm.” 

Qrow chuckled. The poor guy really had no idea who he was talking to, did he? 

The soft classical music in the background started to swell, and before Qrow knew it the other nobles were pairing up to begin an obligatory waltz. Unblinkingly, he downed the rest of his glass and placed it on the tray of a passing server, before he extended his hand to Clover with a bow. 

“May I?” Qrow asked, smirking. 

Clover grinned, placing his own (still full) glass on the server’s tray before he accepted. 

The special operative took the lead, placing one hand on his Qrow’s back and keeping the other entwined in his. They stepped in time to the music, eyes locked on each other. One, two, three. One, two, three. 

Qrow twirled under Clover’s arm, his cloak fluttering around him, before he was pulled into a shadow position. As he spun back around, he took the lead for a split second to wrap his hands around the other man’s waist and shallowly dip him. 

As they continued dancing, a strange calm washed over him. Any flirty remark Qrow could have made was lost on him. He moved perfectly in sync with his partner, ignoring everyone else. 

To think he would have left without getting the chance to do this first. 

Eventually the music died down, and the pairs broke away into their groups. Qrow distantly realised he was the only one still holding onto his partner, but he didn’t really mind. Clover didn’t seem to mind either, if the hand lingering on his back meant anything. 

_This is nice._ Qrow distantly thought. He never thought he’d find someone like Clover in a place like this. The soldier wasn’t overly uptight, like the other guests or James. He was incredibly attractive, which was a more than welcome bonus, but more importantly he was fun, and probably too flirty for his own good. Moreover, it seemed like he needed a break. And at that moment, Qrow was more than willing to help. 

Qrow didn’t come for a hookup, but maybe a little time to unwind was exactly what both of them needed. 

...not that they’d have much more time if they stayed there. 

James had spotted him. Qrow could see over Clover's shoulder that the general was watching them with narrowed eyes, and his annoyance was something no mask could hide. Seemed like James wasn’t as blind as he thought. 

But he wasn’t about to let being seen spoil his fun, now was he? 

“Don’t look now, but I think your boss has found us out,” Qrow whispered, side-eyeing the general. 

Clover didn’t turn away, holding his gaze with lidded eyes, “Maybe we should go somewhere a little more _private,_ then.” 

The huntsman grinned, “You read my mind.” 

As Ironwood started walking towards them, Qrow grabbed Clover and speed-walked to the stairs. As they climbed the steps, he heard a noise behind them that sounded suspiciously similar to a plate of hor d'oeuvres crashing into a military general. 

How _unfortunate._

Qrow stifled a laugh. 

* * *

The two weaved through the halls of Schnee Manor, more focused on not being found than which direction they went. They only stopped once the sounds of the guests turned into echoes in the distance, and they lost their breath from running. 

“I think we lost him.” Qrow panted, looking over his shoulder. 

“I think we lost the whole _party,”_ Clover chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “James is going to have me shot for running off like that.” 

The remark made Qrow scoff, “Trust me, _you’re_ not the one he’s going to shoot if he finds us.” 

They both laughed, and it made Qrow’s face ache. Had it been that long since he smiled so wide? He found it hard to believe. It felt good, after all that time. 

Comfortable silence followed, but it was broken by Clover’s voice a few seconds later. 

“We’re not supposed to be back here. There aren’t any other guests around.” 

Qrow blinked and looked to the other man, who’s gaze was already locked on him. 

“You saying we should head back?” 

His fingers suggestively traced his shirt collar, pulling it down just slightly. It was so subtle, it could almost be perceived as an accident. Qrow knew he was doing it on purpose. 

“I’m saying we don’t have to worry about anyone else seeing us anymore.” 

The two stared at each other, the silence returning momentarily. 

Qrow only hesitated for a moment before he moved. 

Clover let out a soft gasp as the huntsman grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. 

“Tell me, soldier boy. Are we doing this or not?” 

He had been waiting for this for what felt like ages. Clover looked good enough to eat, and Qrow would be _damned_ if he didn’t take a bite. 

“Of course. I didn’t get you alone so we could sit and _chat,”_

His confident tone didn’t match the light pink flush that flooded his face. 

Consent heard, Qrow immediately started to unbutton Clover’s shirt, only to be stopped by a hand touching at the mask on his face. He looked up to the special operative, who cocked a teasing eyebrow. 

“Don’t you think we should take care of these first?” he asked. 

He stared into nothing for a few seconds, before he met Clover’s gaze with a smirk. 

“I don’t know,” Qrow teased, fingers still absently working on the buttons, “I kind of like the mystery.” 

Alarmingly, Clover’s face softened behind the mask. 

“It’s okay if you don’t feel comfortable, but...I want to see you.” 

Qrow could have refused. Clover wasn’t forcing him to take it off, and keeping it on would have posed little more than a minor inconvenience. If anything, it would have benefitted the both of them. Not seeing each other’s faces would mean a certain level of anonymity, a promise to forget each other the day after. 

If it were any other place, or any other person, Qrow would have refused. 

Instead, he nodded and extended his head. 

It took a second for the mask to be slipped off his face, and it took another second before he could meet Clover’s gaze again. He was expecting disappointment, or disgust. Instead, he took in his appearance with wonder. Pure, genuine wonder. 

Slowly, Qrow inched forward and reached out until his fingers were touching Clover’s face. The other man moved in sync, tilting his head forward as Qrow carefully hooked fingers under his mask and slipped it off his face. 

He caught sight of those teal eyes in their full glory. The ornate disguise fell to the floor, leaving nothing between them but the open air. 

They were mere inches away from each other now. His hand roamed Clover’s face, pushing stray strands of hair from his forehead before trailing it down to gently cup his cheek. His heart pounded as Clover leaned into the touch, turning to kiss his palm. 

Checking for any sign of discomfort, Qrow’s gaze darted back to Clover’s face. His eyes still fixed on Qrow, and he waited patiently for his next move. Calm. Completely content. An open invitation to do as he pleased. 

It was terrifying to him, how easily this complete stranger gave him his trust. 

Their kiss started sweet, almost chaste, a test of trust between the two. However, it wasn’t long before the initial tension started to melt, and the exchange became heated. Their motions grew more desperate, moaning softly and pulling at loose fabric. Qrow felt a dull press on his bottom lip as Clover bit down, groaning into his mouth. 

Despite the fire, there was still a strict militance to Clover’s actions. He was stiff and self-conscious as he moved, like he thought they were being watched. Atlas must have trained the ability to loosen up out of him, leaving his body wound tight like a spring that wouldn’t uncoil. 

He was going to have to fix that. 

Qrow pulled away first. He trailed kisses down his jawline as Clover caught his breath. Curious, he experimentally sucked on a spot on the special operative’s neck, just to see how he’d react. 

He heard a dull thud, which he could only assume was the back of Clover’s head hitting the wall. 

Alright then. 

Fingers tangled in short, brown hair, Qrow pulled Clover’s head back to expose more of his neck. He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses to the length of his throat, teeth dragging over sensitive skin. 

He bit down, hard, once he reached the crook of his neck, and he relished in the stifled gasp that followed. 

_“F-fuck…”_

“You like that?” Qrow whispered, hot breath ghosting over the newly forming bruise. 

If the breathy whine that escaped the other man’s throat meant anything, it was that he agreed. 

The shapeshifter continued to place several more bites, greedily nipping at any unmarked skin. He covered Clover’s throat with hickeys, sucking them high enough that no shirt collar would cover them up. If the marks really bothered Clover, he could just heal them with his aura. The soft moans that escaped his mouth told him he wouldn’t. 

Meanwhile, Qrow groaned as soft kisses were pressed to the side of his neck. Calloused hands roamed his back, slipping under his shirt and running along toned muscles. Those hands abruptly pulled him closer, and a quiet growl escaped his mouth in response. 

He was no stranger to situations like this. Sometimes a pretty waitress or handsome bartender would catch his eye during a night on the town, and he’d leave their bed the next morning with bruised hips and a limp that would last a week. 

This was different. Somehow, this put those other nights to shame. This was fucking _euphoric._

Qrow’s free hand slipped under Clover’s shirt, and he dragged his fingers along his chest. Every second the special operative became a little less restrained, a little more _needy._ And Qrow could tell he was doing his best to hold back. 

“Nnnn….wait, hold on a second, if you keep going I won’t- _ah!”_

Qrow let his teeth drag across the bruises, relishing in how the other man’s train of thought went off the rails. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, eyes darting up at the other man’s face. 

It was a genuine question. As into this as he was, the last thing he wanted was to push any boundaries.

Clover shuddered, _“Gods, no.”_

Teetering on the edge, so close to losing control. All he needed was a little push. 

Qrow smiled, leaning forward to gently nibble the shell of his ear. His grip on Clover’s hair tightened just slightly. His words were barely a whisper as they escaped him. 

“Then let go.” 

Clover sobbed, unable to hold it back. Then, like a sledgehammer meeting glass, his mask of perfection shattered. 

The special operative lost himself completely to Qrow’s ministrations, trembling and moaning, arching into every touch. Nails dug into Qrow’s back, almost breaking skin as he pulled their bodies flush, desperate to feel more. 

Exactly what Qrow was looking for. 

A light tug from the hand tangled in his own locks made him hastily break away. Rather than guiding him lower, like he expected, he was taken back up until they were face to face. The hand in his hair gently trailed down to his cheek and pulled him back in for another filthy kiss. 

The special operative tasted like springtime and fresh air, overpowering the faint bite of champagne that lingered on his tongue. Qrow growled, louder this time, as his grip tightened on his hair. At one point he felt Clover’s leg hook around his hip, to which he responded by grabbing and hiking it up further with his free arm. 

He was lost in the little bubble that had formed around them. There was no special mission, no war, no Huntsman Branwen reporting for duty. For the first time in a long time, Qrow felt _warm._

Finally they broke apart for air, panting and clinging to each other for dear life. Head spinning, Qrow chuckled and pulled his head off the other man’s chest to meet his gaze, hand trailing down to finger his belt buckle. 

Clover looked like a complete wreck; eyes glazed over, face flushed red and chest heaving from the heavy pants that escaped his mouth. Collar unbuttoned and neck bruised, he looked at Qrow without an inch of regret on his face. 

“...who are you?” 

And just like that, the bubble popped. 

The way the other man looked at him made him want to stay in that moment forever. It made him want to hear how his name would sound coming from his lips. The mask, his name...he spent so much effort breaking Clover’s walls, he realised too late that he had reached a breaking point of his own. And that made his blood run cold. 

Qrow gazed into those eyes, that sparkled like the water on the surfaces of lakes. Lakes he would gladly drown in. 

He’d never felt so defeated in his life. 

In a flurry of feathers, he transformed into his corvid form and fled through the nearest open window. 

* * *

Qrow didn’t stop flying until he was out of Atlas. 

The streets of Mantle grew closer and closer as he descended. Wind roared through his feathers as he fell through the air, then through his hair as he turned back into his human form. Exhausted, he tumbled onto the roof of a random building. He eventually skidded to a stop, not caring enough to make a graceful landing. 

In a daze, he collapsed into a sitting position on the rooftop’s ledge. Atlas floated above him, lighting up the murky sky. As the adrenaline wore off and the weight of what he had done truly settled into his chest, he buried his face in his hands and groaned. 

He was a coward. 

A sharp pang of guilt shot through his chest when he thought about Clover, left alone in the hallways of Schnee Manor. Brothers, what did he do? He was no better than his sister, running away without a word like that.

What would happen if he flew back and found him again? Maybe he’d be long gone. Maybe he’d be pushed away, the moment already ruined. 

Or maybe he’d be pulled back in for another kiss.

…

What was he _thinking?_

He did Clover a favour. Everyone he’s ever grown close to, or let into his heart, had gotten nothing but misery in return. It was a burden to know Qrow Branwen, to recognise his name. What he did would save the guy a lot of pain down the line. Hell, knowing his track record with loved ones it might have even saved his _life._

Qrow sighed, pulled his flask out of his pocket and took a long drink.

It didn’t wash away the lingering press of the stranger’s lips against his own.


End file.
